Chapter 16 – Breathing Room
The streets of Gotham were nearly empty — just the low hum of streetlights and the distant echo of sirens. The kind of silence that didn't mean peace, only that trouble was waiting for its turn.
Gwen sped through the quiet roads on her black motorbike, the city's cold glow trailing behind her like streaks of light in water. The wind hit her face through the helmet's visor, sharp and clean — just the way she liked it. The motion kept her from thinking too hard.
Except tonight, that wasn't working.
> "You're connected to it."
Batman's voice replayed in her mind like an echo that refused to fade.
Connected to what? The lab? Weaver? The others who didn't survive?
Her hands tightened on the handles.
The suit's faint hum lingered under her clothes, still active even after the mission. But Weaver was quiet — almost like it understood she needed space.
She slowed down when she reached the Gotham River Bridge. The water below shimmered in broken reflections of neon lights and stars that refused to be seen clearly in this city.
She parked near the railing, pulled off her helmet, and let the cold wind tangle through her blonde hair.
For a moment, she just… breathed.
"Mom would've hated this city," she whispered to herself. "Too loud. Too dark."
Her reflection in the water shifted when a bat flew across the surface. She smiled weakly.
"Guess some things never change."
> "Ambient temperature dropping," Weaver murmured softly from her earpiece. "Prolonged exposure not recommended."
Gwen exhaled. "You sound like my dad."
> "He appears statistically correct thirty-four percent of the time."
That made her laugh — quietly, tiredly. "You really did learn sarcasm."
The AI hummed faintly, almost pleased.
Then, silence again.
She stood there a moment longer before getting back on her bike. Home wasn't far — a few blocks of cracked pavement and fading streetlight away. But it felt like another world.
---
The Stacy Apartment
The front door creaked open with its usual sound — she never got around to fixing it.
Warm light spilled from the living room. The TV murmured softly with the evening news, half-muted.
Her father sat on the couch, still in his GCPD uniform, coffee mug in hand and dark circles under his eyes. George Stacy looked up the moment she stepped in. For a second, his face softened with relief before shifting back to that careful, steady calm only dads had mastered.
"You're late," he said, voice firm but not sharp.
"Study group," Gwen replied, hanging her jacket by the door. "We kinda lost track of time."
He raised an eyebrow. "Study group. On a Friday."
"Physics doesn't respect weekends," she said, grinning a little.
That earned her a quiet chuckle. "I guess not."
The smell of coffee filled the small space, mixing with faint cinnamon — he'd tried baking again, and judging by the untouched tray on the counter, it didn't go great.
Still, it smelled like home.
"How's work?" she asked, slipping her shoes off.
"The usual. Paperwork, phone calls, the occasional guy trying to fight a parking ticket." He took a sip of coffee, then looked at her again. "You sure you're okay? You look tired."
"I'm fine," she said automatically. "Just… long week."
He didn't press. He just nodded, the kind of nod that meant I know you're lying, but I'll let it go.
"Food's in the fridge if you're hungry," he said.
"Thanks, Dad."
He gave her a small smile — that warm, tired one that always made her chest tighten — and turned back to the TV.
As soon as she got to her room, she closed the door and let out a long breath she didn't realize she was holding.
---
Her Room – Silence Between Words
The walls were small, covered in posters and notes from a more ordinary time.
Her desk was a mess — open textbooks, a half-finished drawing, her phone charger tangled like webbing.
She slipped off her hoodie, then the reinforced undersuit beneath it. The living fabric retracted, folding itself neatly into its compact form, glowing faintly as it powered down.
Blue light faded slowly from her veins, retreating beneath her skin until she looked human again.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror — tired eyes, messy hair, someone pretending everything was normal.
"You and I," she whispered to the silent suit, "we need a break."
> "Acknowledged," Weaver replied softly. The hum faded completely.
For the first time in days, her room felt quiet. Really quiet.
---
The Call
She sat on her bed, scrolling through her contacts until she reached a name she hadn't tapped in weeks.
Peter Parker.
Her thumb hovered for a second before she hit call.
The line rang twice before his familiar voice came through, upbeat as ever.
"Gwen Stacy, the ghost of Gotham herself! I thought you'd been kidnapped by caffeine."
She smiled despite herself. "Hey, Pete. Sorry. Been… busy."
"Busy? You? What, Gotham finally offered a degree in chaos management?"
"Funny," she said. "You'd ace that class."
They both laughed — easy, familiar, like slipping back into something safe.
They talked about school, teachers, Peter's failed attempt to make a new web-fluid compound ("It exploded. Twice."), and his ongoing argument with Flash Thompson.
But eventually, her voice quieted.
"Pete," she said softly. "I… need to tell you something."
The laughter died on his end. "What's wrong?"
"It's… hard to explain," she said. "Something happened a while back. Something weird. And I've been trying to figure it out ever since."
"Define 'weird,'" he said carefully.
"I mean weird as in… radioactive weird."
There was a long pause.
Then, almost gently, Peter said, "You got powers, didn't you?"
Her throat tightened. "Yeah. I did."
He didn't say anything for a moment — no gasp, no panic, just quiet processing. Then he said,
"Are you okay?"
She blinked. "That's… your first question?"
"Well, yeah. You sound like you're still you. That's what matters."
Gwen laughed — half relief, half disbelief. "You're taking this way too well."
"Please. You think you can one-up my science fair disasters? Try me."
That made her smile, even if her eyes stung. "Thanks, Pete. For not… freaking out."
"You're my friend, Gwen. Powers, no powers — doesn't change that. Just means I have to buy you stronger shoelaces."
She laughed again, quietly. "You're impossible."
"I know. It's part of my charm."
They talked a few minutes longer — about nothing and everything — until she felt her heartbeat finally slow down. When the call ended, she stared at the phone for a long time before whispering, "You're still you, Gwen. Powers or not."
---
A Moment of Peace
The room was dark except for the faint glow from her phone. Weaver's hum returned, quiet and steady, like a heartbeat under her skin.
"Don't get any ideas," she muttered. "You're not replacing actual people."
> "Understood," Weaver replied softly.
Her dad knocked lightly on the door. "You okay, sweetheart?"
"Yeah," she said, smiling faintly. "Just talking to a friend."
"Alright. Get some rest, okay?"
"I will."
When his footsteps faded, she lay back, hair spilling across the pillow. For the first time in weeks, the world felt still.
Her phone dimmed beside her, Peter's name glowing faintly on the lock screen.
Weaver's pulse synced gently with hers — not invasive, not loud, just… there.
Gwen closed her eyes.
"Maybe," she whispered, "I can be both."
Then, for the first time in a long time, she slept — no nightmares, no alarms, just peace.